


If you love him, let him go

by ratonzita



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Happy Ending, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Spark Stiles, Stiles is awesome and amazing and I love him, They all think the same, Worried Pack, because i like them happy, but also angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratonzita/pseuds/ratonzita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tries to confess his love to Derek. He gets rejected. And then the supernatural shit of the week arrives. Problems, problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you love him, let him go

Stiles waited for everybody to leave before approaching Derek. He was sitting comfortably on the couch while reading a book—a Tolkien book.

Stiles could do this. The pack gave him their blessing after all. God, how did they convince him again about this? Right: the sidelong looks, the terrible jokes, the unnecessary shoulder bumping… yeah, Stiles had noticed too: specially those turned-up-out-of-nowhere pop culture references; one of the many reasons that Stiles was, well, in this particular situation, gathering courage.  

Derek was apparently unaware of his presence. That must be one hell of a book—well it was _The Hobbit_ , so…

Well, fuck it, he thought. Here it goes.

Stiles approached Derek with a grace and easiness he couldn’t believe he was managing and cleared his throat until Derek rumbled his acknowledgment. But nothing more. Maybe he thought he was saying goodbye?

“Derek.”

He looked briefly at him, raising a single eyebrow to communicate a silent _Stiles_ , before turning back to the book; he noticed they were alone, something he had been successfully avoiding. Stiles then decided to _get_ his attention and grabbed the book, but now that he was on it, he was suddenly aware of how the words he had carefully planned all week were nowhere near his brain, so, in a moment of braveness—or stupidity—he just rolled with the motion: he bluntly cupped Derek’s face, tilting it slightly, and kissed him, soft and a bit insecure, before straddling him for a better angle; catching Derek off guard. In response, Derek grabbed his hips and returned the kiss lightly before remembering himself.

That’s when it all went to hell.

Derek firmly pushed Stiles away, dropping him ass first on the floor. Stiles was utterly confused, he was pretty sure that Derek had kissed him back, even if it was for a second. And they _all_ had assured—swore, almost pushed—him into believing that Derek felt the same way. There even were pinky promises involved!

“I- I can’t”, stuttered Derek looking blankly over Stiles’ shoulder.

“B-but you _just_ kissed me back”, he said staring and blinking rapidly as if that way he would understand better, because, _fuck_ , they all said… “You did!”

“You surprised me”, Derek shrugged feigning non-interest and fooling the younger one.

Stiles gaped. (But seriously what else could he do?) And stared some more. “So…what? You just kiss people if they surprise you and then you don’t?”

“Yeah.”

Now Stiles was feeling offended. That look on Derek’s face: blank and hard, like he did this every other day of the week. And _fuck_ , maybe he did. But when? He was always with them, except…except nothing! Anger started feeling Stiles.

“I don’t even need freaking wolfy senses to know you’re fucking lying right now.” Derek tensed, his shoulders getting tighter and tighter as he felt the anger building in Stiles. Because Stiles was sure Derek wasn’t that kind of guy, he _knows_ Derek. And the pack would have smell funny business if Derek was up to it, and wouldn’t have encouraged him. So, the only reason for Derek to be acting like this was…was that he just wasn’t interested in Stiles.

Stiles got up, cleaned imaginative dust from his pants and looked Derek straight in the eye.

“So, tell me; because you kissed me.”

“ _You_ kissed me first.” Flat, neutral tone. Defensive Derek it was.

“And?” Derek looked confused for a moment. “You said ‘I can’t’, you can’t what? You can’t kiss me? You can’t read while standing? You can’t find world peace on your couch? You can’t stand the thought of me kissing you?” Now Derek showed a panicked, sad brief expression, but not brief enough for Stiles not to see it. “What Derek?” Stiles, though, knew better than to push him when he got like this, so predictably Derek shut down all face emotion and stated: “I don’t want to.”

The phrase went straight to his heart stopping it for two beats, before crashing loudly against his ribs. Of course Derek didn’t want to: with looks like that who wants the obnoxious, gangly, all limbs, and loud seventeen-year-old. They convinced him, because he wanted to believe them—and didn’t Deaton say that if he strongly believed in something, it would happen?

He stared a little more into Derek’s carefully guarded eyes: that blue, green, brown, hazel window into nothing, because he didn’t have the permission anymore to look beyond like before; before he let his stupid _feelings_ get the best of him, of this awesome friendship that probably was never nothing more than that and now was possibly lost. He blinked twice to retain the dreading tears that were gathering and threatening to roll.

“Right”, his voice sounded foreign and weird, slightly above a whisper, “I’m just gonna—go, sorry; I’ll- I’ll let you get back to your book…”

Stiles walked away, towards the door and stopped abruptly before grabbing the knob. Derek had said ‘I can’t’ first and, yeah, there were plenty of ways and infinitely more to continue that phrase, but what if he just couldn’t let himself have this?, especially not after his past relationship with, oh-shit-how-could-he-forgot, Kate. But he hadn’t forgotten. He never could, which now made obvious why Derek couldn’t: he couldn’t’ let himself trust enough someone else or maybe it was just because he had a penis, not a vagina, or both. If it was the first well fuck off because he told Stiles once that he trusted him, and Stiles was always saving his furry ass. And yeah, he was going with that theory because the other one just made him want to cry harder: it meant another unobtainable and unrequited love. The first it was then. But Stiles wasn’t like her: he would never _ever_ betray Derek’s trust. The anger that was fading and replaced by the hurt of everything, returned stronger and, before he could stop his mouth, it went ahead of him.

“I’m not Kate fucking Argent.”

 

How did Stiles got home? He couldn’t tell: all that anger and hurt blinded him after he heard Derek breaking something while he banged the loft’s door close. He had gone too far. There was no possible way for everything to be as it was before that horrible evening. He went there full of hope and left with shattered pieces of himself and sans friend—an awesome, almost best friend.

Stiles didn’t even make it to his bed after closing his door. He just slipped-sort-of-fall to the floor with the evidence of his feelings drowning him. He half-wished to not have said it at all and go back to the time when he knew that pining in silence was better. He knew there was no way for Derek to feel the same; now he had proof. And he hurt Derek by bringing her up without a reason or explanation whatsoever—because that was just the way his head worked. He didn’t want that—fuck, he was the same as her: _he hurt him_. He had promised not to remind him of her—well the promise was to himself, but still, it counted.

But- but Derek kissed him too! And, urgh, it was all fucked up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. _It was all fucked up_. No more lousy jokes or “innocent” bumping, no more sidelong glances or even easy fucking air to breathe among them. He shouldn’t have listened! He always knows better than the rest of the pack! Just because they said out loud what he was hopping didn’t mean he should have acted upon it! But even Lydia was on their side, and Lydia is Lydia—bad-ass-motherfucker, banshee, genius Lydia. How could she get it wrong too? Unless it was pity on her side? No. Lydia Martin didn’t do pity.

Maybe they just thought they’d made a good couple, but didn’t foresee Derek’s true, _friendly_ feelings towards him or mistook them for something it now so obviously wasn’t.

Wow. He used to wait for the day when Lydia got something wrong—not-so-secretly hoping it would be someone’s dead—and now that it happened… he just felt devastated. But, hey! He was Stiles Stilinski, John Stilinski’s and Claudia Stilinski’s son, the Sheriff’s son, and Human of the Hale Pack—maybe, the title could be removed soon because of his previous behavior—he would get over this.

Just not at the moment. Right then and there, he wanted tons of ice-cream, chocolate, alcohol, awful horror B-movies to laugh at, and videogames. He hugged his knees. Tomorrow he’d move on. If he got over Lydia, he’d get over Derek. Tomorrow- fine, a week—ok, let’s be real: probably never. But he’d get good at hiding it; it would never bother Derek again. Not a single soul aside from his would ever know.

 

“Jesus, Stiles, you look like all the puppies in the world died.”

Well, the hiding wasn’t good yet, if Scott—dumbstruck-with-Allison-Scott—could tell without wolfy-cheating he was feeling horribly bad.

“Thanks, Scott, you are as handsome as ever.”

“What happened? Is your dad okay? Is everyone ok? I just saw them, they smelled ok.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and was about to tell his lie—his perfectly-practiced-without-a-hitch-of-his-heartbeat in the mirror lie—when Isaac came hurrying to grab him by both arms and search his body for injuries.

“Wow, down boy, what’s the rush? You didn’t even ask me for dinner first.” Stiles is a master of deflection if Scott’s snort was anything to go by.

“Derek’s all grumpy and broody; I thought something bad had happened to you.”

“I’m fine” And, oh no, that he didn’t practice: those perky ears in the other boys obviously caught on if the wide-eye looks where anything to go by.

“What happened Stiles?” And that’s Scott serious voice. Great. Like neither of them knew what he was going to do two days earlier, though he didn’t tell any of them he was doing it _that_ day, just that he was planning on it.

“Nothing.” He got stares from both of them. “Fine. I- I said something I shouldn’t have told him, like ever.”

Both Scott’s and Isaac’s worried-puppy-eyes made an appearance. “You told him about- you know,” Scott said signaling towards his heart. Stiles nodded swallowing loudly. He could do this: tell them and act like it wasn’t a big deal.

“It didn’t go well”, he said proud that there was only little-to-almost-none trembling in his voice. Scott was about to open his mouth and he could see from the corner of his eye the rest of them approaching—all of them, Jackson included. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But, Stiles, it was Lydia all over again and stronger than that!” Scott was the worst friend ever. Stiles glared with all his might, first at Scott then at the others who had finally caught up. He stared slowly at each of them: Erica, Boyd, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, and Scott again.

“I’m not talking about it. So leave it alone. I’m fine”, he received angry looks from all. “Derek’ll be fine in a couple of days, and I’ll be peachy and nerdy all over the place in no time.”

He actually believed that: Derek was strong. Besides there was no time in the world that would really help Stiles with his feelings issue, but sarcasm always defeated the werewolf lying detector.

The bell rang. Stiles experienced joy at that sound.

 

At the end of the day, Stiles managed to avoid further questions with more glaring. However there was no escaping Scott at his own house. The cheater even ran and arrived there before Stiles, leaving no other choice but to face him.

“I really really don’t want to talk about it, Scott.” He dumped unceremoniously his backpack on the desk and threw himself on the bed.

“I know. I just- you smell off, way off.” Damn Derek and his super training of sharpening the wolves’ senses. “I’m worried, man.” Stiles smiled weakly. That was Scotty people, always putting others before himself. A traitorous, silent tear left his eye. “Stiles…”

“You guys were all wrong,” he started weakly and trembling at that pleading tone. “He- He doesn’t…” he cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, “he doesn’t like me.”

“That’s nonsense: you’re very likeable! And he always smells happy around you.”

“Yeah… you said that before, but…” he sighed loudly, “it was a friendly liking, not- you know… liking liking.” At the silence, Stiles uncovered his eyes to look at a confused and concerned Scott. “He only wanted friendship and I- I fucked it up.”

“He said that?”

“No, but he didn’t need to: it was perfectly clear in his face and the loud crash on my way out.”

“What if _you_ got it wrong? What if he just-”

“Drop it, Scott.” The trembling voice now included shaking shoulders. That now familiar mix of sadness, hurt and anger coming back to him like an old friend. “Don’t you think I already thought of every ‘what if’ involved? It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever: He. Is. Not. Interested. He. Can’t.”

“What?”

“His words. So, no. It’s not gonna happen”, he repeated in a murmur. “And I’ll be fine.” That was his new mantra, along with the ‘we´re not going to die’ every time supernatural crazy shit happened. “I’ll make it fine, so it won’t be weird for you guys.”

Scott hugged him then. Strongly, like he was trying to protect him from his feelings and reality.

“It will be fine, Stiles.” Scott repeated back to him.

Scott was the best. And the very best when he plugged in the Xbox, stopped the conversation all together and ignored the tears still running rapidly down his cheeks.

 

Scott became the best of them all and the whole world when he got the pack to back off of him and leave the issue alone. He came over all that week, every evening—ditching plans with Allison and pack bonding meetings—, to play Xbox with him and not talk about the tears that slowly started to stop falling until it was Friday afternoon and they didn’t show at all.

There was still the broken feeling that may never go away. Scratch that: it would never go away, Stiles knew it—Derek was it for him: no other man or woman would be better—, but now he was putting a better front about it, and as long as his face didn’t show the wreck he was, it was going to be fine. He might become one of those that only have sex out of necessity and be the always single, cool uncle to all of Scott’s future kids (cubs? Pups?). But everybody would think him fine. He was going to master this. Probably in another week he would be able to see Derek.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m leaving for my shift, you’re going to Derek’s later?” Stiles guarded carefully his expression.

“Nah, I don’t feel like going out tonight.” The sheriff was silent for a moment. He knew something was troubling Stiles, and Stiles knew he suspected something—duh, can’t fool the sheriff.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah, Dad, everything’s fine: no supernatural shit going on; just regular, everyday stuff. Being a normal teenager.” After all, he was being the cliché heartbroken type at the moment.

“Stiles, do I need to arrest some girl or guy and scared them for anything you’ve been feeling this week?” Stiles snorted at the irony. Derek had already been arrested, twice; a third wasn’t going to work on him. The sheriff entered the room and grabbed his shoulder firmly. “It’ll be okay.”

Somehow, with his dad saying it, he could actually believe it. Eventually. Stiles offered him a shaky smile with shiny, unshed tears. Because he was better now, he tells himself so. He slowly let go and left the room, but before Stiles could hear the closing sound of the front door, his dad yelled: “Stiles, you might want to rethink your choice!”

Stiles was confused, but the strawberry-blond girl on his bedroom door brought the answer, along with some shopping bags and Allison.

“What the-”

“You’re coming to pack bonding movie night looking hot as hell. Erica and Isaac claim you no longer smell like us.”

“We’re not taking no’s nor but’s.”

Stiles sighed. There was no escaping Allison and Lydia when they set their minds. And he did miss them, all of them. He smiled sadly at that thought. He may not be completely ready to face Derek—he would never be, but it would happen at some point in one way or another, and he needed to see the rest of the pack. And, maybe, just maybe… no, no, he was past the maybes. He sighed again, rubbed his face and stood up.

“I’m going with my own clothes or I’m not going.”

“Deal.”

Stiles blinked. That was fast, very fast for Lydia. He squinted at her: it was their plan all along to threaten him into clothes he wouldn’t be comfortable in. They smiled knowingly. He sighed again, and rolled his eyes. “I’m driving myself.”

“Obviously”, Lydia flipped her hair, “Jackson just dropped us here to get the pizza.”

“The bags?”

“Mine”, said Allison smiling sweetly, dimples at full-force.

“Have you seen her wardrobe? I had to do something”, Lydia rolled her eyes, “Your next, of course.”

Stiles sighed knowing he couldn’t deny her anything, grabbed his keys, cellphone and wallet. “Let’s just go.”

It was good to be with them. The ride was okay, calming even with the easy conversation about what type of clothes Stiles needed. But not long enough he was parking at Derek’s. There was one other car meaning they wouldn’t be the only ones already there, and hopefully Jackson and Scott were rapidly on their way; the other wolves were always there so he didn’t think they wouldn’t be.

He pushed his shaking hands into his pockets and breathed steadily in and out. Lydia and Allison each took one arm of his. They slowly went up. They chatted easily while he blanked his head. However when Allison opened the door, the three of them froze on the spot.

The rest of the pack was nowhere to be seen, nonetheless there was Derek. Derek and Braeden. Derek pinning Braeden to the wall with her legs around his waist, notorious swollen lips and evidence on their clothes of groping.

Stiles brusquely turned around and ran to leave as quickly as his legs would allow, but he couldn’t escape Braeden’s words fast enough: “You knew they were coming up.”

It was one thing to know Derek didn’t want him and other thing entirely that he felt the need to reinforce this knowledge by showing him _that_. His breath fastened, he could feel his chest tightening with every shallow pant, his hands were shaking so strongly that he couldn’t get the goddamn key to open up his Jeep and get the fuck out of there. He started seeing black points until he heard Scott yelling his name loudly at his ear.

“Stiles! Breath! Slowly!”

Stiles focused on Scott’s face without noticing the black veins of his arms. Scott was looking to his left, something he didn’t feel strong enough to look at too. All he had in his mind was Derek and Braeden’s image and Braeden’s words on a loop.

“Scott”, his voice was barely there, “please…”

Scott, being the awesome friend he was, understood perfectly well what he meant and got the fuck out of there faster than his werewolf super speed.

 

After some necessary hours of hugging and burying feelings with alcohol, Scott went home leaving a couple of aspirins on Stiles’ night stand and a note to Stiles’ dad, warning him against buying more scotch anytime soon.

However Stiles couldn’t sleep, not even with a whole bottle of scotch in his system. Strangely enough he had achieved to enter a numb yet coherent state. He was increasing his resistance to alcohol. Hooray.

He knew he had it coming. He had hurt Derek by bringing Kate up, so he paid him back with something as hurtful. A clear, huge message of ‘I don’t like you, I never did and never will’. Stiles smiled bitterly, Derek knew him well enough to know where to hit, just like him. He never left an unbalanced thing. Exhibit A: Peter killed Kate, he killed Peter. Exhibit B: Deucalion almost killed Erica, he almost killed Ennis. Exhibit C: Jennifer fooled him, he fooled her and got her killed. And now he was exhibit D.

Karma worked on funny ways, didn’t she?

Stiles heard his dad arrive and pretended to be asleep. He couldn’t face another worried look, or any look at all. He heard him sigh next to him, felt his slow caress, the light kiss to his forehead and the reassuring words: “It’ll get better”, without flinching. He was going to be a great liar in the future—hey, maybe he could get into acting, if he survived high-school.

The sheriff closed silently his door. Stiles opened his eyes shuddering: he wasn’t going to sleep that night. That image was still burning bright.

 

Stiles didn’t sleep all week—napping doesn’t count. The pack was worried because of the dark circles under his eyes, but didn’t say anything; Stiles’ and Scott’s glaring had forced them not to since Monday morning. Stiles knew Scott hadn’t agreed to Lydia’s and Allison’s plan of taking him there. He was very loyal to his hurting friend and Stiles was deeply grateful for it.

He planned on taking another more than deserved nap when he arrived home, but his plans were frustrated when Isaac received a phone call from Derek stating they were all doing a recon in the woods right after school. And by all, it meant Stiles too.

Isaac, Boyd and Erica went with Stiles; Lydia and Allison with Jackson; and Scott with his bike. They arrived together to the Preserve. Stiles breathed shakily before leaving his lovely Jeep, preparing himself to face Derek, Braeden and the possibly-murderous-thing in the woods. Sadly, he wished to encounter the latter than those two waiting by the Camaro.

Everybody gathered in a semi-circle in front of Derek—Stiles with Scott and Isaac by his sides—, then Derek updated them.

“The witches crossed our territory this morning.” It was the first Stiles heard any of this, part of the pack not touching the Derek issue for him. He felt relieved with the sweet distraction the research and possible dangerous situations offered. “We’re going to trail their scent to wherever their hiding.”

Then he proceeded to divide them in pairs for a more efficient recon with the usual plan: Erica-Boyd, Jackson-Lydia, Scott-Allison-Isaac, and Derek-Stiles; however this time Derek put Isaac with Braeden. But Stiles was in no fucking way going with that, nonetheless Isaac beat him to say so out loud.

“No,” he startled them with the fierceness of his refusal. “I’m going with Stiles.” Derek was going to state that he was the one giving orders—everyone was expecting it—, but Lydia rapidly also reasoned against it.

“That’s a better choice. Isaac’s not that familiar with Braeden—yes, she saved his life once, but you definitely know her better, don’t you?” Stiles could feel her cold glare without needing to raise his head. Isaac grabbed his hand. He heard Derek sigh, giving in.

“Meet you all back at the loft when you’re done to exchange information.” He turned and left with Braeden, who gave a ‘sorry’ look to Stiles, but he didn’t see it, he was still looking at his shoelaces.

When Stiles looked up, he caught their figures disappearing into the woods, not as close as he was expecting, but he still felt a slight pang in his chest. The pack passed next to him with subtle caresses, Isaac didn’t let go of him until Stiles wasn’t broadcasting his feelings. Stiles offered him a weak smile. Isaac was the most sensible to reading moods and the one that needed more cuddles, therefore he often received hugs: Stiles made it his personal mission to at least hug him twice a day; which he hadn’t been doing since all his insides died by Derek’s lips.

“Thank you”. Isaac smiled, pleased with himself for giving back just a little. “Let’s go.”

 

Stiles and Isaac searched in silence. Isaac used to be weird out by this, but eventually understood that it was other side of Stiles; he was especially grateful for it after some of his nightmares. However, this time he wasn’t being silent for him, but for himself. Those silences always scared Isaac a little, because usually some terrifying and brilliant plan came from those pensive moments. Though, right now he was sure Stiles wasn’t thinking a plan, at least not until they gathered all the intel. But he said nothing. The silence wasn’t all too comfortable but it wasn’t intolerable. Besides he had to focus more on his surroundings than Stiles.

They went on like that for an hour. Stiles was leading the way following a path he himself didn’t know as Isaac hadn’t found a scent yet, when they were both startled by an amused voice.

“I wouldn’t cross over there if I were you.”

They both turned to find a beautiful, barefooted brunette in a white dress. Stiles was alarmed because evidently Isaac hadn’t sensed her, which meant trouble. Why was he wishing for trouble? Isaac made a tiny move indicating he was about to pounce on her, but Stiles touched his arm advising him against it. Isaac, thankfully, was very in tune with him to understand the silent order, but still put himself in front of Stiles.

“Why not?” His voice didn’t even quiver. He would be proud of it, if it didn’t only happen in threating and life or death situations.

She smiled mysteriously. “You can feel it, can’t you? That’s why you came here.” She said instead of answering him directly. “Although why would you bring a _beast_ with you?”

“He’s not a beast, he’s a werewolf.” He scowled, while Isaac growled in warning. She waved her arm as if saying ‘potato-potahto’. “Who are you?”

She smirked. “I know all about you, _Grzegorz_ , and your- pack”, she said the word like it offended her, and maybe it did. Stiles heartbeat picked up a bit making Isaac growl again. “You should come here some other time, alone.”

“Why?” She laughed like it was a silly question.

“To meditate, obviously.”

“So I can’t cross there now because Isaac’s with me.” She applauded him and faked bow to him while removing an invisible hat. She then smiled lopsidedly before appearing behind him, whispering to his ear: “See you soon, my little Spark”, and vanishing.

Both of them turned around rapidly with their hearts beating at the same quick speed. They stared into the space where she should have been, but evidently nothing was there. They looked at each other briefly, wondering ‘did that just happen?’ Stiles nodded to him, and Isaac howled to the others.

A couple of minutes passed before the rest of the pack appeared in the wild clearing Stiles had been analyzing every inch without taking a single step farther. He tried to recall the reasoning behind his chosen path, but there wasn’t any: his feet had taken them there. He couldn’t exactly focus, though, with Isaac, and now the rest, there. He made a self-note to come back—not because she advised, but for…science. Yeah, okay, it was because she suggested it. She knew his name! His _real_ name. The one he always changed in the school records for something a little bit more pronounceable, but still hard enough so everyone would call him Stiles.

“Stiles?” Scott touched his arm carefully, startling him. He looked concerned. “Your heart’s racing.” He looked at Isaac a bit, then breathed calmly to steady it.

“What happened?” Derek growled. Stiles rolled his eyes before focusing on the spot where he would be meditating soon.

“We found one of them.” All looked at Isaac. The other wolves sniffed the air founding nothing. “I didn’t sense her: one moment there was no one and then she was there.”

“You caught a scent?” Isaac nodded. “Describe it.”

He scoffed before answering. “I can’t- it’s fading. I’m sure I’ll recognize it if I come across it again, but…” He looked at Stiles wondering. Derek followed his gaze, and then with an eyebrow encouraged him to continue. “She called Stiles…something. G-” Stiles snapped his eyes to him, like he just heard a strange noise in the middle of the night. “I can’t pronounce it.” All eyes turned to Stiles now, but Isaac went on. “She said she knew all about us.”

“She didn’t lie.” No one, except his dad, knew his real name. Not even Scott. She had no reason to lie. They were all looking at him strangely, except Isaac. Derek searched him for confirmation. “Besides, she just freaking Apparated her way in and out, and talked vaguely, as they all do, so she’s definitely related to wizards.” Stiles was going back to his old-self relieving almost everybody’s scowls. He could be an excellent distraction from a frustrating situation.

Derek continued scowling while he barked the return to the loft. Scott approached Stiles.

“You okay?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He made a pop culture reference and Derek didn’t snorted or scoffed in acknowledgement as before, a witch knew his real name…

“Peachy.”

 

At the loft the wolves gathered to discuss more about the non-existing trail of scent, while Lydia, Stiles, Allison and Braeden hit the books. Stiles chose a spot near the window and let himself get lost in the research, more deeply than ever. He _had_ _to_ figure this woman out.

Page after page, book after book, and Stiles didn’t feel satisfied. They already knew how to kill her and the coven: fire, hanging, drowning, bullets with a cross, yada yada. He knew Salem’s witch massacre since he was a kid. But still. There could be more variables into this than they had ever affronted. The primal question was if they were dealing with a white witch or a black witch. They had to figure out her believes in order to classify her as a threat or just a traveler. Was she wiccan or really believed and worshipped the devil? And then all that lead to more questions: What were her motives? Why was she here? _Who was she?_ How did she know his name? He grabbed the laptop while Isaac gave him some slices of pizza and water.

There was no reasonable explanation, just easy solutions if she was bad: the try to save her and killing part. But he was so not ready for demons and exorcisms, no matter how much Supernatural he watched. The killing he had more experience. And yet other things bothered his mind: there was the lingering question of the spark thing. This was the second time he was called that. Sure, Deaton encouraged him to be a spark, to believe the mountain ash would work; yet this woman, this witch, called him ‘his little Spark’, as if he could develop it and she knew everything about that.

Google wasn’t helping much on this, though. He would have to go to Deaton himself for an explanation and that was going to be as accurate as the woman giving him her name.

Stiles stared out the window into the dark sky. He should probably call his dad and tell him about this. Nonetheless, he made no move towards his abandoned cellphone on the floor next to the untouched food. He continued staring until his lack of sleep reached him.

 

Stiles tried to turn on his sleep only to feel like falling. He awoke with a start when his ass hit a bed. He wildly looked his surroundings without recognizing the place, but then he focused on the person standing in front of him: Derek. Then Derek’s room, Derek’s bed. And nope.

He stood up only to be pushed harshly towards the bed. He scowled at Derek, but the man was unaffected by this.

“You’re exhausted.” He whispered softly. “Sleep for a bit, take rest.”

Stiles ignored him, tried to stand up again but Derek’s hand on his shoulder avoided it. He glared at the floor. “I’m fine.”

“Rest.” Stiles looked up then. Why was Derek taking care of him? He didn’t seem to care at all the previous week with his little show. His intense glare made Derek take a step back startled.

“I can’t.”

“What?”

“We have a witch to catch. I need to research more.” He could cover the truth with other truth, and it didn’t count as lying to a werewolf.

“Lydia said there was nothing more, at least not in those books. So, rest, for a while. You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Who told you that?” He scowled.

“Nobody. I can see it in your eyes and posture. Sleep. I’ll call your dad.” He turned to leave but Stiles whisper stopped him dead on the spot.

“I can’t sleep _here_.”

“You’ve slept here before.” Stiles snorted angrily. Because yeah, he had, during some puppy piles, but not any longer.

“Fine. I don’t _want_ to sleep _here_.” He stood up and brushed past Derek bumping his shoulder. “I’m going home.”

He left. Derek didn’t stop him. No one did, even though the wolves heard the conversation. They knew when to give him space.

 

Miraculously, Stiles didn’t have or cause an accident while driving with shaking hands and irregular breathing. He was so pissed at himself, at Derek, at the witch—nah, her not so much; she hadn’t done anything but talk and startle them a bit.

The balance was even, but he had to go and punch again. It’s like he couldn’t help it, he had to unsettle Derek somehow. And words were always his weapon.

Urgh. He smacked the wheel when he parked at his house. His dad’s cruiser wasn’t there. Good. He wouldn’t watch what a trembling mess he was. He rested his head on the wheel. This was his second home: Derek’s loft had become the place where he felt the safest, so it had become his first home; even when this was where he knew his mom, the loft—the den, as he jokingly called it, and they all secretly enjoyed it—had strong memories as well. And the pack had become his family. Not for nothing he tried his damn best to keep them alive and well.

He sighed and walked to the front door to find a box with his name on it. He looked around himself, but no one was near him. If it was any other night, Stiles would have probably called Derek or someone of the pack to sniff it before picking it up, but it had been a lousy couple of weeks. He grabbed the box, entered the house and went straight to his bedroom dumping it unceremoniously on his desk. It landed with a loud thump and fell to the floor where it opened, spilling its insides.

Stiles sighed again when he saw all that dust falling out of it and all over the floor. He dropped himself next to it, but before he started pushing the dust inside, he saw a doll. A Derek freaking Hale looking doll.

“For fucks sake.” He swore out loud. Of course it was. He grabbed it and glared at it with all that bottled anger. His own Derek Hale to play house or something. He could feel a headache coming. The more he stared at doll-Derek the more intense the pain got while all those good memories—all those jokes and silly moments they shared—raced through his mind, until the pounding pain became unbearable forcing him to pass out right there in the middle of all that dark dust, that looked awfully familiar to mountain ash, without noticing the note at the bottom of the box.

 

*

 

That was making Stiles stir. He had forgotten to close the lids, again. Why did he always forget the essentials? He slowly opened his eyes and was met with the most gorgeous face since Lydia Martin—and damn that woman’s beautiful. The guy had sharp cheekbones and jaw, stubble, angry eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own, the dark hair in perfect place and the eyes… what color was that? Stiles blinked, his brain finally waking up, and did the same thing he did when he woke up next to preternaturally beautiful individuals—aka never—: he screamed his head off.

Not even five seconds later had passed when his dad and pack crossed his door. The unbelievably hot guy was on the floor looking adorably confused. It was really an unfair image.

“Stiles”, his dad said slowly, “is everything okay?”

He threw an irritated and confused look to him. How could he even say that when a really good-looking stranger was in his room? He should be arresting the guy and escorting/forcing him out.

“Yeah, you know, because every day I wake up to gorgeous dudes staring me in my sleep. The usual.” His dad fixed him a ‘I’m not having any of your shit today son’ look. He shrugged casually while asking. “So…you know this guy?”

They all stared like he had grown three heads with wings, even said hot guy.

“You don’t know who he is?”

“Am…no, should I?” He shrugged again. Something was definitely going on. It was Stiles turn to stare now. “Why aren’t you freaked out? You know him then?”

Now the three heads had become like sixty, with a pair of yellow horns each.

“Stiles”, said Scott with his confused puppy-eyes. “That’s Derek.”

He looked again towards the stranger-apparently-not-so-stranger.

“Derek”, he said tasting the name on his lips. He tried to place the guy who seemed like someone he would definitely remember: those muscled arms promised strength, and the way his tank top clung to him like it was painted showed lickable abs that caused him to lick his own lips, and those jeans just as tight that possibly also showed a great ass with a front like that; but the face. Stiles couldn’t handle the face: it was…perfect, and obviously angry and embarrassed if that flush was anything to go by. “Derek…Hale.”

The hot guy— _Derek_ —nodded. Why did he say Hale? Stiles frowned searching his brain. Where did the last name come from if he couldn’t remember seeing him before? Another headache was coming, making itself at home while Stiles tried uselessly to recollect any extra information, any vague memory where Derek and he had met or something, _anything_ about this guy that his friends evidently knew—even his father!

“I can’t.” he said through gritted teeth, the pain was now throbbing intensely. “I don’t remember _you_.” Black points started filling his eyesight. He was about to pass out again. Boyd grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to stop looking at Derek.

“Stop.” But Stiles had to place him. Even if it was on a park or the graveyard. He had to know him if his most close and favorite people in the world did. He needed to know. “Whatever you’re doing, stop. It’s hurting you.”

However, he half listened to Boyd’s words: he was passing out again.

 

“He’s waking up.”

Stiles slowly opened his eyes to Deaton’s voice. Everyone was still there, in his room. His eyes immediately went to Derek and provided recognition, but only of their confused encounter when he realized something was wrong with his memory. He was about to give it another shot, but Deaton advised against it before he could start.

“Don’t try to locate him; it will only do yourself harm.”

Stiles turned to him. “Why can’t I remember? Because I should remember: you all know him! And I don’t have Alzheimer; at least I didn’t when I fell asleep. And I’m pretty sure I can’t develop it overnight and just forget a person all together; even if I tend to forget some things like what I ate at breakfast or so… but that’s totally normal!”

“No, Stiles. It is not natural.”

“So…what? A spell? If it is, then undo it: I don’t like to not know. I need to know. It’s like a basic instinct in me.” The sheriff then mumbled a ‘don’t I know it’ so quietly, that only the werewolves were able to hear him and snorted.

“It depends. What’s the last thing you remember before this?”

Stiles scratched his head. “Um, we were doing research on the witches; which brings me to how I ended up in my bed when I clearly was at the loft?”

“You remember the loft but you don’t remember Derek?” Erica’s voice rang with incredulity and a silent ‘are you kidding me’ on her tone.

“Why? Is that important to him or something? Oh shit! Does he even know about- you know? Fuck, I might totally just gave you guys up! Sorry, dude- see: there are crazy things bumping in the night… and day, especially at the woods; so you should totally avoid those, and I’m just one of those crazy people who believes it because I obviously hit my head really hard, so hard I now have temporary amnesia that-”

“Stiles.” Derek cut his ramble with a grumpiness and tiredness, like he had to hear this continually on other occasions; his voice sent a comfortable and suiting familiar feeling. “I’m a born werewolf: I know all of this.”

“Oh. Sorry then, for- you know- not remembering. But hey! Born werewolf! You must like know so much about lycanthropy! You should teach these guys more about it, especially the ‘how to look and act human around other people’; seriously it’s like they forgot about it when they were bitten.” Deflecting, that thing he did when he wanted to lighten the mood—even if it was only his—was obviously not forgotten. Erica smacked him in the head followed by an overall sigh.

“Why couldn’t he forget how to talk?” said Jackson.

“Deaton,” Derek commanded to continue the evaluation; and why was he doing it?

“Stiles,” Deaton pulled out a doll in an evidence bag. “Who does this look like?”

He stared at him with a dumbfounded look. Couldn’t the druid tell the obvious resemble? “Derek, obviously.” Lydia gasped like she had figure the problem out.

“Is it then the-?”

“Yes, miss Martin. It is.”

“What?” Derek and Stiles asked at the same time, which also felt familiar. Huh. He couldn’t remember the man himself, but everything he did was just right, like it couldn’t be any other way because he was… Derek Hale. Stiles felt like a stranger in his own skin.

“It was a specific spell.” They waited the man out: he had a thing for dramatic pauses. “It was to remove or repress Stiles’ memories of Derek.”

“Repress memories as it obviously pains him to try gathering them.” Lydia corrected.

“Can you fix it?” Scott worriedly asked.

“It is a powerful spell, probably the entire coven was involved in it.”

“Can. You. Fix. It.” It wasn’t even a question this time when Derek said it. And again…it was just like him to do it that way.

“I’d have to look into it, however… I’m afraid not: I’m not as powerful as an entire coven of witches; probably only them can undo it.”

“Will killing them reverse it?”

“Wow, wow. Hold your horses, man! We don’t even know _if_ they did it.” Everyone looked at him like he was stupid. “Ok, it was probably them. _But_ we should coerce them into undoing it first.” Derek looked ready with a reply, but Stiles carried on. “Dude! I know your preferred method is to ‘kill and see if it works’ but it obviously doesn’t always work, because-“ He stopped himself. How did he know all that? It was like the information was there—right fucking there—and yet he couldn’t totally access it. It couldn’t get more frustrating than that. Deflecting activated. “Besides, you might be a werewolf, but you’re not the alpha, so, why are you even barking out the orders here?”

“Dude,” Scott hissed at the same time that Derek grumpily answered “I _am_ the alpha” along with a flashy red eyeing demonstration; which had Stiles getting even more frustrated.

“Then why me? Why take _my_ memories of _only_ you, if you’re the _alpha_. It is obviously a better tactic to take yours and leave us all vulnerable, than take mine.”

“This might help,” said Deaton giving him a small card with a little message written on it: ‘You’re welcome. Hope this helps your little problem.’

“Really? They’re going with this?” Stiles eyed it with distrust and anger. “What problem? I don’t remember any- oh fucking right: _they repressed it_. These are like they worst witches ever!” And yet… the problem involved Derek, it was only him he couldn’t place. “Do we- did you- ?” Stiles ran his fingers through his head. He couldn’t even make himself ask, because even if they told him: he wouldn’t remember it.

“It could be a distraction,” Isaac suggested encouragingly. He couldn’t take any more of Stiles mood like this.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll kill them. Problems solved.” Derek shrugged naturally, because death was the easiest answer to everything. Stiles scoffed receiving the man’s glare, but he shrugged it away, like an everyday issue. Stiles scowled again. This was going to be a repetitive pattern: to say or react to something naturally and realizing he didn’t understand the reason behind it because there was no previous memory of it.

Stiles groaned loudly.

 

In less than an hour, he found out he had slept for two days straight after his dad found him on the floor hugging the Derek doll under mountain ash, and in those days the pack hadn’t found anything more of the witches: nor how to found them nor a possible scent trail to follow.

And two days later they were still stuck on the same spot. Right now, though, Stiles was driving to the loft—Derek’s loft—with the pizzas. They deserved a little break from the profound hole of nothing they were in. Therefore, they were having a movie-night.

He was arriving at a red light when his cellphone started ringing. Stiles grabbed it and answered knowing it was Scott.

“Dude, where are you? You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago.”

“Sorry, Scotty, but I kinda forgot how to get to the loft.” Silence. Dead Silence.

“Stiles-”

“Dude, I’m kidding! Gee, can’t you guys take a joke?”

“It wasn’t funny!” Isaac yelled from far away.

“Nonsense, you guys can’t take my humor. Either way the dude at the pizza place was lazier than ever!” The green light was on now. “Guys, gotta keep driving, see-” His car started moving but out of nowhere it stopped causing Stiles to hit the wheel with his forehead and drop his phone.

“Ow. Motha- ow” He swore. He could hear Scott’s worried voice coming from the cellphone. He grabbed it fast while trying to start his car again. It wasn’t giving any sign of life.

“STILES”

“Hey, I’m fine. I’m fine. Just. The car stopped and I hit my head. But I’m fine.” There was a knock on his window made by a young blond woman. “Yeah, hi.”

“Hi. Car trouble?”

“Stiles, who’s that?”

“Yeah. Just a woman, dude. See you later.” He hung up. Not a really good idea considering how the wolves had been worried about him. “Yeah. It just died.”

She smiled sweetly. “Open it.” He did as she said. Maybe she was a mechanic, but there was something about the way she moved and smiled, like she knew she was fooling him. “Try to start it now.” It roared to life.

“Wow. You’re magical. Thanks.”

“Anytime, Stiles. Anytime.” She smiled again and left. One moment she was there and the next she wasn’t. Stiles did a double-check; she was nowhere to be seen, which reminded him of the other woman he met in the woods, especially since he never introduced himself to her.

He drove the rest of the way with shaking hands. He hadn’t turned off the car when the wolves were already at his door. Isaac first.

“That’s the scent!” They pulled him out of the car for a quick inspection. Now everybody would have the scent. Derek looked him straight in the eye to ask/order him to tell what happened. He did and then voiced out loud his doubts.

“Why on earth are they showing themselves to me?”

“They’re helping you or so they think” said Allison, then Lydia voiced a little and denied fear at the back of his mind: “They want him.”

Derek growled frustrated. Then he grabbed his arms and pushed him towards the building. Everybody followed the motion and entered.

 

“Ugh. That’s it. Stop. All of you. Now.” Stiles stood up, paused the Amazing Spiderman—sorry Andrew—, turned around and looked at them scowling. They hadn’t been paying any attention to the movie; instead, they were all twitching and flinching at every little sound. “This is supposed to be movie night, a fun night, a let’s-forget-shit-happens night, a relaxing night. But no. You’ve all been somewhere else entirely.” He crossed his arms.

“You were attacked,” growled Erica.

“Ah-ah.” Stiles pointed at her. “I wasn’t _attacked_ exactly; I was approached-”

“For the second time,” added Isaac.

“ _But_ they didn’t do anything. My car stopped and-”

“All by itself?” inquired sarcastically Lydia raising an eyebrow.

“Urgh. Maybe they had something to do with it.” He received unbelieving looks. “But that’s not the point _right_ _now_.” He sighed rising and dropping his arms. “Derek, dude. A little help here man.”

Derek crossed his arms, flexed his fingers repeatedly like he wanted to pull Stiles into the safety of his arms. Stiles kinda wanted him to do it. “Like what?” He grumbled with his usual scowl.

“I don’t know dude. _Do_ something. You’re the alpha.” said Stiles exasperated.

Derek turned his head towards the pack, stared intensely at each of them. “Have fun”, he growled in his alpha voice and his red eyes.

A cricket sounded far away during the Dead Silence that followed Derek’s order, until Stiles cracked. “Did you- Did he- just,” he said looking for help with the pack. Scott nodded not knowing exactly what to do. But then Stiles started laughing and they all followed; Derek smirked, pleased with himself. “Oh my- god,” Stiles could barely breathe, “Dude,” he said grabbing his laugh-aching belly, “that’s why I lo-” Stiles stopped himself abruptly. What exactly was he going to say? Love? He barely knows the guy. He started working himself up, but a sudden soft punch stopped his line of thought. He looked at the pillow by his side, then turned towards a smirking Jackson while the rest of them kept on laughing, apparently without having noticed his internal crisis. “Oh, it is on Whitermore.”

Soon enough there was a real party going on. Pillow fighting, tackling and tickling until they were all out of breath. Then they happily resumed the paused movie, enjoying it in the safety of a wolfy-human pile of limbs.

 

The next day, most of the pack left after Stiles told them he was sticking around to try and trigger his memory or something.

Naturally his intentions were related toward his minor crisis the night before; as it picked his curiosity why on heavens good grace would he even remotely try to say the L world when he hasn’t said it to anyone else but his father and Scott since his mom died.

Derek was making breakfast when Stiles decided he didn’t have the patience to wait. He hopped up on the counter, ignoring Derek’s glare, and clapped his hands loudly.

“So-” He dragged the o until Derek nodded. “How long have we known each other?”

“Couple of years.”

“How did we meet then?” Stiles asked swinging his legs.

“You trespassed my property and-”

“Scott was bitten” Derek nodded, Stiles frowned. “So, if you’re the alpha, how come I don’t- ugh forget that.” Derek looked at him confused but nodded encouraging him to continue. “See. I have this notion of the alpha, like he—well you really—and I have been under several stressing, death-threatening situations. That true?”

“Yes, we save each other quite often, too often.” Derek glared at the pancakes. And really, Stiles thought, no one should do that, except this was Derek and it seemed entirely normal.

“So, basically every situation in my head I feel off is related to you then?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess” Stiles mimicked and sighed because it involved too many memories in his head that were a bit strange. He decided to change the subject. “Are we friends?”

“Well, yeah. I think so.” Derek frowned.

“Are we _just_ friends?” Derek stopped moving all together, he wasn’t even breathing. Stiles approached his still figure slowly, giving him time to assimilate what he was doing and saying—he decided it as the safest, also not to question right now the reason of that—only stopping mere inches from him. “Because I get this feeling that I know you. Everything you do or say is just…you. It can’t be any other way. And I _know_ it. I can feel it. Even more than just best bros, like it would be with Scotty. You feel right. I can’t explain it. I- Derek?”

But Derek was barely breathing. He was staring at him widely, like he couldn’t believe the words that just left Stiles’ mouth.

“One way to find out, then” Stiles licked his lips, tilted his head slightly to the side amazed by their same height and caressed Derek’s lips with his. But before he could actually kiss him, Derek grabbed him strongly by the shoulders and made space between them.

“I- We’re not-” Derek was trying to say with a panicked look on his face. Stiles felt disappointed, but strangely even if his feelings kept telling him to run and hide, the scene had felt familiar: with the feeble sting in his heart, the way Derek tried to position himself and how his lips were still tingling with Derek’s heat.

“This happened before” Derek surprisingly said nothing. “I’ve tried this before.” Derek, then, at the confusion and frustration rolling off of Stiles, nodded. Stiles took the step back Derek badly wanted him to take. “You’re the little problem” Derek flinched as if Stiles had gutted him with a wolfsbane knife. “That’s why the doll looked like you. That’s why you’re the only one the spell worked on, as they were probably aiming for a complete wipe.” His heartbeat started racing, a theory rapidly forming in his brain as he started guessing what the not so little problem truly was. “Derek, am I in love with you?”

Derek blanked and became a true statue. Stiles wasn’t sure he was alive anymore. Until Derek trembled slightly and sighed. “You think so.” he whispered.

“But…?” Stiles prompted.

“I don’t- you can’t-” Derek glared at the floor when his words failed him.

“You don’t feel the same and I can’t cope with that?” Stiles finished for him, still strangely calm. However he could feel the echo of a hurting and painful emotion making its way to the surface. Derek didn’t say anything, nor moved. “I- I need to go” Derek looked up then, worried. “I’m fine. I just- I need to think and I can’t do that here with you all weird and familiar at the same time.”

He was almost at the door when Derek’s hand stopped him. “I’m calling the others. You shouldn’t be alone right now. What if the-”

“I’ll be fine, Derek.” Stiles looked back at him and smiled shakily. He needed to be out of there half an hour ago. Derek let go of him slowly and frowning.

 

Stiles took his cellphone out half way to his house. Because it felt like home, but the loft felt more homey. He frowned and speed-dialed Scott.

“Hey, dude. Listen, I’m going to my place but Derek doesn’t want me to be alone. However I need Stiles’ special time right now. I have all this-”

“Don’t worry, dude. I’ll take care of it, but only for a couple of hours, ‘kay?”

“You’re the best, bro.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Never, man.”

They hung up then. Stiles smiled triumphantly. He needed Stiles’ special time, yes, but there were two special times: the one to jerk off and the one to think. Fortunately, the pack entirely thought only the first one existed.

Stiles took a turn towards the woods. He knew the perfect place to think. No, she had said meditate. And now was as best a time as any to try that out. Deaton would have proof too ambiguous to actually achieve anything there. He needed answers and only his brain was going to find them. After all they wanted him for a reason, right?

Stiles followed the light buzz he felt under his feet. But instead of leading him to the place where he encountered the first witch, he was now at the Nemeton. He shivered slightly remembering all the troubles they went through there, how they could have lost their parents on that night, about the door they opened. Scott had had trouble with the change, Allison hallucinated with her dead aunt and he- he just had strange feelings and sensations; sometimes they were dark, like a stronger type of instinct warning him or scaring the shit out of him, or warm, like the one with Derek or that lead him to here.

He inhaled deeply, held it for a couple of seconds and let it out slowly. He approached the Nemeton as if it were a dangerous creature; however he started feeling calmer and calmer with every step he took. He touched the surface of it, feeling its rough skin and the trembling energy beneath it. Without thinking he sat on top of it. Once he was comfortable, he closed his eyes and caressed it. Slowly, very slowly, he started feeling beyond it. That same buzz was surrounding him: it was on the grass, the rest of the trees and the animals living there. He felt like floating and warm. As if all that energy was available for him because he could see it, yet it wasn’t to be used lightly; but respected and cherished.

He was on a safe cloud, when he received some kind of signal, like a far away call. He opened his mind to it. And before he could say ‘hello’ the voice of the last night’s blonde came to him.

“I’ve seen you followed our advice and meditated.”

“Yeah, well” he answered inside his mind (he was too amazed to start feeling any alarm, besides she didn’t feel bad) “once something is on my mind, I can’t let it go easily.”

“Good.” She paused, unsure. “Have you recovered your memories?”

“No,” Stiles would have growled if he were a werewolf. “If you haven’t heard, a whole coven of witches put a spell on them and there’s no one powerful enough to break it but them.”

“You can.” Stiles rethought her words.

“Why? How?”

“You’re a Spark. Hasn’t your druid taught you anything?”

He snorted. “He barely gives the information we need when asked on life-and-death situations. So, no. All I know is that it involves believe.”

She made a disapproving sound. “An untrained Spark. That can’t do.” She paused, and strangely he waited her out patiently. “Believe is the important factor. However it is because of the energy you can manipulate through it.”

“Uh-huh. Go on.”

“For example, if you believed strong enough that you could turn water into ice or gas and vice versa, you could do it. Because the energy is capable of it, you’re only giving it a- mm- push.”

“Okay. What does that have to do with my brain?”

“Your memories are still there. They always leave a trail behind, a sort of linger or-”

“Feeling.” She said nothing, but Stiles could feel the approval sent his way. “So, you’re saying if I believe I can retrieve them, I will.”

“Yes, basically.”

“Okay… Now why are you telling me this? I thought you wanted me to forget everyone so you could get your claws on me.”

“Ah, yes. That was _her_ plan.”

“Her’s, huh?”

“Not all of us agree with her ways. We- we treasure nature and its energy, very similar to what you ought to do. However she’s been… doing things that offend that faith. We- we would love you to join us. But not at the expend of your pack. They are part of nature as well. She’s been-”

“Twisted and lost her way?”

“Yes. I’m afraid- we’re afraid she’d do something awful to them if you join us or not. Please, Grzegorz, get your memories back and help us.”

“Okay, okay. I- Hello?” Stiles could no longer feel her. He opened his eyes and frowned at the woods in front of him. They weren’t bad, only one of them was. Their leader by the sound of it. Stiles shuddered at the memory of Peter Hale.

He shook himself out of that spiral of fear and dread. So, manipulation of energy through sheer belief. He could do that, couldn’t he? He breathed deeply, trying to get back that sensation of calm and warmth. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard. He then focused on the energy within himself. If the pack was nature, so was he; and he had the Spark. Right? Right.

He searched himself until he actually found that tiny bit of energy he was now calling spark. It was like a small, bright globe. He tried moving it from the center of his body towards his hands and the rest of his body. He then divided it, testing how much he could transform it; then he created a connection between his heart and his brain. Then, he pulled. It hurt. Like taking out a big piece of glass from his body. He didn’t know how long he’d been pulling like that, but after a forceful “Come on, come back to me, you’re mine for fuck’s sake” said out loud, he felt like something had cut every muscle in his body and fell backwards.

He blinked several times, looking at the darkening sky. He felt once more his spark on its center and full, shining bright and warm. He then closed his eyes and recalled Derek’ everything. And yes. He remembered. Every time he threw him against a hard surface and saved his ass, or vice versa. He even remembered him from little, on the hospital with a haunting look on his face and covered in ashes. He then went back to fresher memories, like the past day with the pack. He sighed happily, but then held his breath for what he knew had been the two most painful weeks of his life.

He opened his eyes sighing again, but no longer happy. Only sad and hurt, but proud of himself. He could now bring more to the pack than his research abilities. He got up, caressed the Nemeton thanking him silently and went back to his car.

He retrieved his cellphone from the co-pilot seat. His eyebrows reached his hair when he saw the time: he had taken three hours more than what he had asked Scott for and he also had 54 missed calls from all the pack. He started the engine worried, remembering the witch’s warning of the crazy one, and pressed one of the many voice mails. Scott’s voice came to him hysterically.

 _Stiles! Man, where_ are _you? You asked for a couple of hours, but you’re not home according to Jackson. And you’re dad isn’t there. And we can’t follow your scents. It’s like you were never there! And Isaac, Erica and Boyd can’t find Derek nor his scent either. Dude, call me right now!_

Stiles threw his cellphone back to the seat and speeded towards his house. He exhaled relieved when he saw his dad cruiser, but remembered Scott’s words. He ran up to the other, opened it hastily and ran up and down his house. His dad wasn’t there. His stuff was, but he wasn’t. Stiles started breathing heavily. He dialed Scott.

“Dude! Thank god, we thought you were taken too. Where have you-”

“Doesn’t matter. What the fuck is going on? Taken? Where’s my dad? Where’s D-Derek? If anything happened to either of them, I’m going to-” He stuttered and started panicking, hoping Scott wouldn’t notice but he wasn’t that lucky.

“Stiles… why- why are you- dude, we’ll find them. Breathe. Come on. You’ve been doing okay lately, why are you again-”

“I have my memories back.” Silence. When Scott was about to speak again, Stiles spoke over him. “I’ll meet you at the loft and we’re getting rid of those bitches.” He hung up, and drove quickly to the place of his latest torments.

He parked hastily, turning off the engine and breathed deeply, calming himself. Derek wasn’t here. They didn’t know where he or his dad were. They would find them. And then Derek and him would go back to being not friends. He cleaned up the tear that betrayed him and ran upstairs to have an excuse for his fast beating heart.

He opened the loft door. Every member, wolf and human, was eyeing him carefully. “Let’s get my dad and that Sourwolf back”. He smiled wickedly.

 

After updating the pack about his memory condition and that he alone broke the spell, the wary look changed to something like respect and awe. It didn’t last long when they resumed the task at hand of rescuing two of the most important people in Stiles’ life. They all understood why those two had been targeted.

An hour later the plan was simple: find them, take out the bad witch, warn the others and retrieve his dad and Derek. The only problem was finding them.

“I’ll call Deaton” said Scott. A few moments later, he hung up and smiled brightly. “Deaton said that Stiles would be able to find them if his spark is strong enough?”

They looked at Stiles expectantly. He felt numb. “I just found out how to use it once and now he thinks I can actually find them with this thing?!” He laughed a bit hysterically.

Boyd put his hand on Stiles shoulder and looked him firmly. “You can do it. I trust you. We all do.” Stiles slowly stared at them, each nodded to him in return.

He breathed shakily. “Okay, okay. I just- need a moment.” He stood straighter. He needed a space where he wouldn’t be disturbed. His eyes went to Derek’s bedroom door. He hesitated after taking a step in that direction. Jackson pushed him towards it, rolling his eyes.

“Go. It won’t bite you.” Erica and Stiles snorted. He looked at her receiving a determined look. He nodded.

Once he had Derek’s door closed. He looked at everything. The rumpled sheets, the full bookshelf, the bedside lamp… He inhaled deeply and sat on Derek’s bed. Derek would probably killed him later, if—no—when he came back; because he was going to find them both, alive.

He closed his eyes again, and immediately felt nothing but his trembling feelings. He shook himself. And breathed until his mind emptied and he felt calm and safe. He then felt the presence of the Nemeton as if he were on top of it. He smiled to it, embracing him like an old friend.

It occurred to him then. He could ask the Nemeton to pinpoint a direction. He posed his question respectfully, promising to always cherish it and protect him as best as he could. At first nothing happened, Stiles was starting to feel disappointed, but then the Nemeton shyly illuminated the path in his mind. Stiles smiled widely. And mentally kissed it, thanking him and reaffirmed the seriousness of his promise.

He opened his eyes and whispered happily and serious to the pack. “I know where they are.”

 

Stiles was leading the pack without any stealth whatsoever. They probably knew they were coming. It was better if they knew that they knew exactly where they were. There hadn’t been any discussion about how they would dispose of the witch, but that always came up in the heat of the moment. The important thing now was getting there.

They were all quiet despite the confidence in which Stiles lead them. They were a bit confused on how Stiles could locate them, but he would explain them later, with Deaton’s help.

Soon enough, they were reaching a clearing on the woods where the witches were standing and waiting around a small green fire. Next to it where both the sheriff and Derek bound tight with ropes and gagged; Derek hissed and growled with every minute move of his body, which led them to think that his ropes were laced with wolfsbane, while his father looked only slightly concerned and angry. The brunette—aka bad witch—was right behind them.

Stiles cracked his neck and smiled at her, receiving a pleased one from her.

“You found us” she said.

Stiles hummed. “That’s not the only thing I found.” He stared at her to make his point across.

“You got them back too.” She grinned. “You’ve proven your value; now you may be a part of this coven.”

Stiles tsked. “See, that’s going to be a problem.” The pack growled behind him, and Allison readied her bow. “I don’t want to join you.”

She seemed utterly confused. “Why wouldn’t you? These mere mutts do not deserve you and your power as they cannot help you improve or train you. They’ve been slowing you down.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “It’s all about power with you bad guys.” He glared at her. “You messed up with the wrong town, lady.” Stiles stared her down. “You took the people I love most and now you want me to join you? Something’s very wrong with you if you even think for a moment I would leave them. No, no, instead you’re gonna pay for it.”

“But they’ve hurt you. This one” she grabbed Derek by the hair, he growled and flashed his red eyes at her “more than most.”

“So?” Stiles shrugged angrily. “I’ve hurt him too, but that’s no reason to abandon him or any of my family.”

“We would be a better family, treat you like you deserve. With respect. And we would help you reach your true power.”

Stiles tsked again. “I’m not interested. I have a family already. And not even if you were to kill all of them, would I follow you. But you dared to try and take away from me, as I said before, _the two people I love most_. So, what I’m interested in right now, is in getting rid of you. The thing is if I should make you suffer or not.”

“But your Gzegorz, a vigilante- you would never-”

“Yes, I am Gzegorz, a vigilante and that,” he smiled wickedly, “in my book, means to kill the bad guys who mess with my city, or you know _my pack_.” Stiles extended his hand towards her, concentrating, feeling the energy surrounding him. The woods energy was running from her, towards the other witches, towards him. He could also feel the tiny balls of energy inside all that were in the clearing: the wolfs, the humans, the witches. They all felt different but somehow similar.

“B-but you’re a stand-byer, an observer, a future emissary, a- a Spark!”

“Oh yes, I’ll be a badass emissary, always in the middle of it, because seriously I can’t help it and I may be a Spark, but I’m the Spark that ignites.” Stiles crushed his hand fiercely. He focused intensely on changing her energy. Nothing apparently occurred, but then she started turning red and smoke came out of her: she was burning inside out; _Stiles_ was burning her from the inside out. She tried to swat him away with her magic, but even as she raised her hand Allison put an arrow through it.

When she turned to dust, there was a silent moment where they all stared at the gray spot where she now lay next to an intact arrow. Stiles glared at the rest of the coven until the blonde witch untied Derek and John with a snap of her fingers. Stiles hurriedly hugged his dad while furtively glancing at Derek, visually checking for injuries. She smiled sweetly and sadly at him.

“You’ll be amazing once you’ve completed your training.” He felt like hugging her too, after all she gave him important clues towards his abilities. “Thank you for freeing us from her: she was a bad influence.”

Erica snorted. “You don’t say.” Stiles laughed and shrugged, feeling a little wobbly after his act.

“If you ever need help, give us a call Gzegorz; though I- we believe, and hope, you won’t need it.”

Stiles nodded and, with that, they were gone, leaving no trace behind. Stiles returned his attention to his father.

“I’m fine kiddo. That good lady avoided any harm to us.” However Stiles was only half listening as he watched Derek’s retreating back. “Go.” Stiles looked at him confused. “Make sure he’s okay.”

“I won’t take long,” he whispered ashamed. He ran until he reached Derek and hugged him from the back. His hands gripped tightly the front of his Henley, he put his forehead on his back. Both shivered lightly. A single tear left Stiles eye and fell on Derek. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Good. I-” He gulped with difficulty. “I’m sorry for- you know- everything. I-I won’t be a problem. I’ll just give you, and myself, time.” His grip became stronger and slowly he let go. “See you around, I guess.” Stiles turned around and left to catch his dad.

Derek’s hands itched to grab him; however only his eyes followed. He crunched his hands, reprimanding them for their wish, and tagged along back to his loft, where his pack, well most of his pack, was now returning and waiting for him.

*

Stiles talked animatedly with his dad on the way back in order to avoid questions about Derek. He explained how everything felt if he concentrated hard enough and how he had found them with the Nemeton’s help.

His dad, tired as he was, smiled for him and told him how proud he was. He then hugged him tightly good-night. Stiles smiled and went to his room, where he, once again, crumpled to the floor. He wasn’t feeling devastated as those previous weeks, his loss of memory may have helped him cope, but he still felt sad, hurt, incomplete and so, so tired.

Stiles was so immersed within himself and with both good and bad memories of Derek, that he didn’t listen his window slide open nor the light footsteps after it. He was scared to awareness when Derek grabbed his hand from where it was tangled in his hair.

Stiles gaped. His mouth opening and closing without a sound leaving it. Derek removed a silent tear that left his right eye and caressed carefully his cheek. That got Stiles to react.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered trying to get up. Derek stepped away and helped him, but Stiles shrugged him off.

“I- I came to talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about. We just need space and time, then everything will go back to almost normal. You know supernatural emergencies, movies, school and whatever you do while we’re busy studying.” He shrugged. “No biggie.”

“We have to talk. They all think we need. And I- I agree.” Derek crossed his arms and put on his serious face. “We can’t keep lashing out at each other.”

“And that’s why I said we needed space. Just for a while. And I’ll- we’ll be fine.” Stiles crossed his arms as well and frowned.

“No. I- I owe you an explanation.” The words seemed to be pulled out of him. Stiles could see on his body language how very much Derek didn’t want to talk.

“Fine. Then explain.” He sat cross-legged on his bed, while Derek pace slightly before deciding to sit on his desk-chair and rolled towards him until his knees where touching the bed. Stiles raised an eyebrow trying to communicate an ‘I’m waiting’ sign.

Derek sighed and breathed deeply. “I-I didn’t want to be alone with you, because I knew what the pack had being saying. I didn’t want to risk our friendship and the pack’s stability with- with anything.”

“And what _did_ you want?” Derek looked up from the floor, surprised that Stiles was even asking that. He scoffed. Didn’t Derek realize that he was allowed to want things for himself? To be happy?

“I-I don’t know…” He side-looked everything but Stiles. Stiles frown went deeper.

“Don’t lie to me. You do know.” Stiles uncrossed his legs and approached the bed’s edge, bumping knees with Derek. “I know you know”.

Derek looked up again. This time his eyes lingered longer than before. “I’m afraid of wanting it”, he whispered so low that Stiles almost didn’t catch it.

“Why?” Stiles answered in the same manner and moved closer, between Derek’s legs. “There’s nothing wrong in wanting something or someone. You can be happy, Derek. You, of all people, deserve it most.” Derek only stared at him as if Stiles were speaking a language he didn’t understand. He tried to reach Derek’s hands, but decided against it. “I’m- I’m sorry, ‘kay? I said it earlier, but I truly I’m sorry. For disrupting you like that. I should have known better. You, you obviously like someone and it’s not me.” He shrugged even when it was paining him to say this, and by Derek’s eyes he knew as much. “No problem. I’m a big boy. I’ll get over it, somehow. But you should go after this lucky person, ‘kay? I’m sure you’ll make her or him happy.” His smile quivered a little with the effort that caused him to even imagine Derek with somebody else, but if that made him happy, he would do his best not be on the way.

Derek then murmured something to his chest that Stiles didn’t catch. “What?” he asked confused. Derek sighed and repeated louder: “You’re the lucky person”.

Stiles was dumbstruck. He frowned again, confused. “Then, why- why did you- with Braeden-?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

Stiles snorted. “There was never doubt about that.” He was trying to bitterly ease the mood. Derek glared at him, but soon sighed again. “Derek, really, if you like me, why did you try to push me away?”

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” He murmured looking him straight in the eye. Before Stiles could respond something he wasn’t himself sure about, Derek covered his mouth with a serious scowl screaming ‘shut up’. “And then, what you said to me at the loft when you were trying to make sense of everything, and with the witches… you weren’t lying. I checked.” He smiled warily. “And I know I won’t lose you, but still I’m afraid.”

Stiles removed Derek’s hand from over his mouth, not letting it go, and asked softly again. “Why?”

Derek breathed deeply. “What if I hurt you again or someone else hurts you? I-I don’t like that. I want you safe. And happy. And with me, it wouldn’t be that way.”

“How do you know? What makes you think that? Because if we look at the evidence, I’d say you’re always looking out for me, for all of us. And that makes me safe. You make me safe.” He reaffirmed his point by holding hard his hands and approaching even more. “Yes, I’ll sometimes get hurt, just like all of you, and you’ll get rid of anyone who ever dares to do it. Or, even better, we’ll do it, together.” Derek smiled shyly. “What?” Stiles face mimicked Derek’s.

“I like the sound of that.” He licked his lips, pulling Stiles attention towards them.

“Yeah? Me too. Especially if by together you’re not only thinking as pack but also as- you know- more…” Derek cupped his face tenderly, peering into Stiles’ bright whiskey eyes.

“Yeah…” He proceeded then to slowly kiss the breath out of Stiles.

The soft and slow kiss went deeper when Derek bit lightly Stiles bottom lip. He gasped and Derek took advantage of it by introducing his tongue, exploring, and by pushing him back on the bed. Stiles went easily, pulling him by the Henley, keeping him near.

They eventually had to come up for air, but before either of them resumed they’re new favorite task, Stiles yawned.

“You’re tired.” Derek caressed his face with almost non-existent feather touches.

“Not that tired to stop making out.” Stiles blushed at his boldness, and Derek laughed easily. He kissed Stiles hair.

“Rest.” He tried to extricate himself from the tangled limbs they became unconsciously, but Stiles didn’t let go.

“Stay.” He asked with a small smile playing on his red and shiny lips. Derek grinned happily and rearranged them so that he was hugging Stiles tightly from behind. Stiles grabbed his arms and sighed contentedly. Derek kissed the back of his neck. Both of them fell rapidly into an easy, peaceful sleep. Neither of them let go, not even in their sleep.

 


End file.
